Disclaimer: This story was written purely for entertainment and is not for profit. It is not meant to trespass in any way on the holders to the rights of Starsky and Hutch.
Warning: "Episodes" might be considered a dark tale and contains some graphic scenes and foul language that may be offensive to some readers. This story also revolves around a paranormal/metaphysical genre; if this is not your cup of tea, then please refrain from sipping. I would hate to spoil someone's fun.
--oo Episodes oo-
By: Shawne 'til dawn
. . . CHAPTER 10 . . .
Hutch pushed the clutter over the passenger side of the seat, helping Mari in, as he closed the door behind her and walked around the car to the driver's side. The tall blond got in and looked over at the diminutive woman sitting beside him, noticing her eyes were glued to something on the seat.
Hutch glanced at the clear, plastic bag holding the bloodstained knife, quickly raising his pale, blue orbs to dark brown almond-shaped eyes filled with horror.
"That's the knife isn't it?" Mari whispered, "The one that he used on David last night?"
"Yes," Hutch said softly, "I'm bringing it into the station . . . gonna send it to the lab. I don't think it'll do much good though . . ."
"It won't," Mari said softly, her eyes growing distant, her voice becoming almost flat and lifeless as the "episode" took hold, "They'll only be able to find David's prints on the handle," she said without expression, her features were blank and her eyes grew vacant, as she continued to "see" what was only privy to her.
Hutch stared in fascination as Mari continued to whisper, her soft, expressionless voice seemed almost to resonate in the stillness of the car, "He waited last night at the hospital, angry at being tricked, his hands . . . his hands are pounding the wheel. So angry . . . Red . . . he sees red and rage fills his heart. He knows . . . he knows . . . you took David away. He will follow . . . he is waiting there now . . . at the safe house . . . for the right time . . . to kill . . . to kill . . ."
"Oh God," Hutch whispered, trying to still the hammering of his heart, instinctively grabbing Mari the minute he saw her eyes roll back, preventing her from hitting her head on the dashboard as she passed out. He gently pulled her over, pushing the paper and junk that littered his seat to the floor, so that she could lay comfortably with her head on his lap. Hutch quickly slammed his car into gear and raced back to the safe house, praying that he would be in time. "Hang on buddy . . . just hang on!" he whispered frantically.
o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Awareness came to him slowly, as he floated peacefully in unnatural slumber. He could hear sounds first, soft muted footfalls that walked around him, his own breathing, strangely labored and shallow. He felt his wrist being held for a minute before it was gently put down once again. He felt uncomfortable, feeling the pain in his side and gut as it slowly registered in his brain.
Groaning softly, Starsky groggily opened his eyes, a sliver of blue peeking out from under dark, long lashes. He closed his eyes again, his lashes fanning out across his pale cheeks, effectively shutting out the bright light that filtered in from the windows, hurting his eyes. He tried to move and gasped sharply, "H-Hutch?" he rasped, his mouth felt like it was full of cotton.
"Just lie still now," a woman's kindly voice was heard, "Don't want you to be opening up those stitches we worked so hard on last night."
The dark haired detective gingerly opened one blurry eye, spying a matronly nurse who clucked and hovered over him. "I know . . . I know . . . you hurt, don't you? I'll bring you more painkillers and some ice chips for you to suck on . . . alright dear?"
"H-Hutch?" Starsky gasped, opening two eyes now, feeling dazed and disoriented as the room spun crazily. He swallowed back the nausea that crept up his dry throat.
"Are you asking for that handsome blond detective who was with you before your surgery?" At the brunet's stilted nod, she smiled warmly, "He left awhile back, but I'm sure he'll be back. Do you need to speak with the other officers outside?"
Starsky slowly shook his head and closed his eyes. He just wanted Hutch by his side, feeling weak and vulnerable without his buddy to watch his back. "Where am I?" he rasped, his throat feeling dry and scratchy, watching the nurse as she adjusted the drip going into his arm.
"You're at a safe house set up by the police. Your captain just left about an hour ago. He was in here with you while you slept, but then he had to go. Now, I want you to rest and don't worry. Try not to move around . . . I'll be right back." The plump woman said, smiling as she ambled out of the room.
Starsky closed his eyes, and for short while, he drifted off again, still feeling the effects from the anesthetics in his system, but as the pain became increasingly more and more difficult to bear, he soon awoke realizing that the nurse had not come back as promised.
The dark haired detective opened his weary blue eyes, slowly tracking the marks on the ceiling, as he quietly surfed through the pain that ripped into him. He could feel perspiration running down the side of his face. He closed his eyes again, breathing rapid, shallow breaths, the pain in his gut and side making it difficult to breathe. The brunet wearily lifted his hand and gingerly held onto his side, which expanded painfully with each breath that he took in. Where was that nurse? What time was it? Didn't she say she'd be right back?
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Hutch parked quite a distance down the road, not wanting to give away his element of surprise. Drawing his large magnum from its holster, the tall blond glanced at the quiet woman sitting beside him. "You stay here Mari," Hutch said, "I've already called for back-up so they should be here shortly. Wait for them . . .don't come out until help arrives . . . do you understand?"
Mari silently nodded, her eyes wide with fear, "He's here . . . so close" she whispered, "I can f-feel him." Her instinct to run was so strong, and she trembled as she fought hard to remain where she was.
"Get down here," Hutch said, gently pushing her down to the floor of the car, "Stay here and don't move."
The tall blond turned to leave, but stopped when Mari grabbed his hand, "Be careful Hutch," she whispered, surprised at herself for impulsively reaching out to the detective the way she did.
Hutch grinned down at the small woman crouched in the litter that was strewn all over the floor of his car, "Starsk and I will be back," he said reassuringly, and then he was gone. Mari wished she could feel as sure as Hutch did. She quickly looked down, as her hand brushed against something hard in the rubbish that was strewn all over the floor of the car.
Picking up the baggie that was buried in the papers and cups, she carefully lifted it to eye level, staring at the large, bloodstained blade. She knew this was the knife, the memento of the demon, the keepsake that housed all the memories of the lives he'd stolen. Her dark brown eyes widened as they ran along the stained serrated edge of the blade.
Why would he have left it in David? Why hadn't he pulled the blade out and taken it with him like he usually did? He was always so careful to keep this particular knife within his reach. This was his treasure. Did he leave it with David knowing that she would soon stumble upon this moment? Did he somehow know that she would be holding this instrument of death in her hands, that she would soon look upon its dreaded sharp edge and "know" all his secrets?
She closed her eyes, wanting more than anything to throw the offensive article out of the car and run far away. Her senses screamed out at her to not touch it, to heed its warning, but she pushed down her fear, her small hands trembling, as she opened the lip of the clear plastic bag.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
He dozed fitfully; the unrelenting pain pursuing and dragging him upwards to float near the surface of awareness, whenever he tried to evade its punishing grip, and sink back down into dark nothingness. He vaguely heard the door opening softly, concentrating on the soft pad of footfalls as it neared his bed. The nurse.
Starsky wearily attempted to lift his heavy eyelids that somehow felt like it was weighted down in concrete. He was exhausted from laboring silently against the burning, agonizing pain that stabbed into his side and lower abdomen with each shallow breath that he took. It would be a relief now, to accept some painkillers and rest his battered mind and body. It sure took the nurse long enough to come back. To finally open his eyes and see the large man looming blurrily above him sent chills racing up his spine. Starsky struggled to move away, feebly trying to block the man's descending hand as it reached for him.
The killer chuckled mockingly, easily batting the brunet's hand away, knowing the detective was weakened and in pain. Grabbing a handful of dark curls, the large man yanked the brunet's head back, grinning as he heard the cop's soft gasp of pain, "Not so tough now, are you?" the man smirked.
"Don't know why you're still alive," the intruder continued, hissing into the shell of Starsky's ear, his narrow gray eyes spying the IV line that was inserted and taped into the crook of the wounded man's arm.
"This what's keeping you alive . . . huh?" the killer whispered hoarsely. The angry man callously ripped the large needle from the cop's arm, laughing as he heard the sharp intake of breath, watching in fascination as the blood welled up from the puncture site, before the brunet lethargically dragged his bleeding arm over his mid-section. "You should've died last night pig!" the murderer snapped irately. With that, the large man pushed the cop over the side of the bed, chuckling as he heard the grunt of pain that emanated from the dark haired detective.
Starsky knew he was in for a world of hurt, his mind comprehending this even as he braced himself, his body slamming down hard on the cold, concrete tile. Like fireworks on the Fourth of July, pain exploded cruelly, erupting blood red hues of agonizing shards that burst behind the ink black backdrop of his tightly scrunched eyelids, stabbing mercilessly throughout his broken and battered body. Although he tried to prevent it, a groan leaked out, causing his assailant to giggle with mirth.
"Well," the killer said menacingly, as he slowly walked around the bed, "It looks like it's just you and me pig . . . so we might as well have some fun before I slice your jugular open . . . so much blood that way . . . it spurts out you know . . . I could even finger-paint the walls with it . . . maybe leave a nice message for your blond partner to find . . . now wouldn't that be something?"
Starsky lay on his side, gasping as he rode out the waves of pain that tore through his lower abdomen and side. His dazed mind vaguely registered his surprise at seeing the perp's face. The Interstate Killer could have passed for the boy next door. He was deceivingly clean-cut and boyishly handsome. 'How could someone so vile, look so decent and wholesome?'
He listened to the heavy footsteps as it came ever closer, hearing the smirk in the murderer's voice as he talked about Hutch. 'Hutch, I need ya now partner,' Starksy thought quietly, willfully clearing his mind and stilling his heart to focus on the footfalls of the man who slowly stalked him; the red-hot pain that flared in his side continued to steal his breath away.
The dark haired detective forced himself to lie still, as his assailant shouted at him to get up. He bit down on the urge to cry out, as the large man drew back his booted foot and kicked him solidly in the back, forcing himself to continue to lie still, playing possum, waiting for the right moment, hoping his hurt filled body would cooperate with him when the time came.
Starsky could feel the man pause. He knew the killer watched his every move and he struggled to remain still and passive, although every nerve and muscle in his body were screaming to be heard.
The man swore softly, as he slowly bent over to check the unconscious cop, totally livid because his "fun" had been abruptly taken away. His cold gray eyes widened with surprise as the still form suddenly sprang to life, the cop rolling onto his back to face him, both legs coiled back, only to plunge them forcefully into his belly, almost lifting the killer as he flew backwards and tumbled over the bed, crashing heavily to the floor, a metal bedpan hitting him on the head.
Starksy gasped, feeling the stitches in his lower abdomen tearing, as his legs connected and pushed against the killer's abdomen, his body shaking from the effort and strain it took to nearly lift the large man, the momentum carrying the assailant over the bed. Without waiting or looking back to see what had become of the bad guy, Starsky forced himself to crawl to the door, hearing the loud, resounding crash behind him, pressing one hand firmly against his abdomen in an attempt to staunch the warm gush of blood as it dripped through his fingers.
Breathing heavily, the dark haired detective hoisted himself to his feet, ignoring the agonizing pain that ripped through his mid-section. Biting back the groan that wanted to escape, he blinked the perspiration out of his feverishly, bright blue eyes, swaying as he reached a trembling hand for the doorknob.
Starsky's eyes widened, as he stumbled out into the living room, tripping over something that lay just outside of his bedroom door. Gasping in pain as he fell to the floor, Starsky turned back, only to see the kindly nurse lying dead, her blue gaze vacantly focused on the ceiling above, blood trickling slowly from her ripped jugular, as it pooled in an ever widening circle under her neck. The brunet frantically looked around, sickened beyond belief as he saw the nightmarish gore around him, recognizing three men from Metro that he was vaguely familiar with.
Crawling over to the man nearest him, Starsky groaned, recognizing Roberts, the cop that helped him from the night before. The brunet remembered the young cop, hovering over him in the dark, causing him to gasp in pain as he pressed down firmly on his lower abdomen to staunch the flow of his blood when Hutch went to make the call. This man had helped to save his life, and now he lay dead, sacrificing his life in service to another cop.
Roberts' sightless brown eyes, open and empty, seemed to glare accusingly at him. His hands, bloody once more, but now covered with his own blood, clutched the knife protruding from his chest. From the look that was forever frozen on his face, it was apparent that he had been caught by surprise, as were the other two officers dressed in plain street clothes, the razor-sharp blades striking them with deadly accuracy, obviously thrown by an experienced hand.
Realizing he could do nothing for those men and the nurse, Starsky struggled to get to his feet once more, making his way to the front door as quickly as he possibly could, his trembling, blood stained hand reaching out for the doorknob, when he was suddenly tackled from behind, the air expelling from his lungs, as he fell face first to the hard wooden floor. Gasping, trying to get his wind back, the dark haired detective felt himself being roughly rolled over, a sharp blade quickly indenting the tender flesh on the side of his neck.
Breathing heavily, Starsky looked up into the eyes of the madman, confusion striking him again to see hypocrisy staring him in the face. The handsome "All American" look of the deranged killer certainly didn't match the gruesome and horrendous deeds he had committed. Someone who looked as decent as the man crouched above him simply couldn't have done those despicable and ruthless killings. The face and actions of this murderer were as unlikely a fit as a pair of unmatched socks.
The brunet winced as his curly haired head was forced back, clearing his shocked mind from his wandering thoughts. His breathing, both rapid and shallow, made the murderer grin as he applied enough pressure to the blade to draw a thin line of blood.
Starsky winced as the razor sharp edge sliced easily through his skin and he shuddered in repulsion, as the large man leaned in close, his sour breath rasping against his face as he mockingly hissed, "Going somewhere pig?"
To be continued . . .